A little while ago, I wrote a post about a time in my past when I felt suicidal. It was painful to write and also cathartic. I spent a lot of time over the weekend writing it. I thought about it for a long time. Then, I posted it. My schedule, in those days, was to post my work on Monday afternoons. I'd work over the weekend and then post on Mondays when I knew people would be in front of their computers. I even crafted my Facebook posts on Hoot Suite to be published at the same time. I'd spend several weeks working out this schedule.
What happened after I posted the entry about my past suicidal feelings was not what I'd anticipated. I'd anticipated people being surprised or upset or maybe even heartened to know they weren't alone. I got some reactions that fell into what I'd expected. What I did not expect was that people who read my blog would contact my employer to express concerns about me. Perhaps I should have expected it. I'm sorry I didn't.
Since then, I've felt less enthusiastic about writing. I've felt a little bit like maybe it isn't safe. I'd been working really hard to be vulnerable, open, and honest. Then, I got slapped down. That's what happens when you allow yourself to be vulnerable. It took me a little bit of time to recover from that. My friend told me, just now, 55 days. It took me 55 days to recover, I guess.
Shall I recount for you the disaster that has been my vacation? I've fallen twice, hard, on the same knee, my dog had a nervous breakdown which caused me to have a nervous breakdown, I wrecked my car, I contracted food poisoning. My anxiety, which I'd been handling so well, swelled up into a terrible monster again. All the time I spent looking forward to a nice, relaxing vacation was for naught. Instead, I spent a great deal of time wrangling my anxious self out of bed each morning. I'm not saying I didn't have any fun: I spent a couple of very nice days on the beach, I saw some beautiful scenery, I got a look at F. Scott Fitzgerald's room at the Grove Park Inn. Last week, I took a very challenging hike and finished it...like, got back to the car on my own steam. I felt good about that.
My therapist tells me all the time that progress isn't a straight path. We go backwards and forwards. I have to keep reminding myself. If you are someone who is reading this, and you read my post of a few months ago and were frightened, I hope that your fears have been allayed. I hope that, should anything you see here in the future scare you again, you'll call or contact me. I want people to reach out to me. It's a big part of why I write what I do here: to make connections. I never meant to frighten anyone. I only meant to say that I once felt very low--low enough to give up--but, I didn't.